


The Witching Hour

by watanukitty



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanukitty/pseuds/watanukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diaval, or DJ Raven to his listeners, is beginning to think that his job is becoming a bit monotonous. One call from a mysterious woman makes it interesting again, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witching Hour

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr (under queen-yuuko , now dimensionbitch)

"Midnight Madness" is too predictable for a night owl radio show, but that's the management for you. He suggested changing it somewhere along the lines of 'Insomniacs Anonymous' and 'Graveyard Shift Grooves' but all he got were scoffs and three pairs of eyes rolling.

So Midnight Madness it is.

Well, midnight is not that maddening, and for one Diaval Sable, it's just where his night begins. He mans the station from twelve am until four on week nights, all by his lonesome because no one else wants to, really, and Thistlewit is much too good at waking people up during the early morning with her unnaturally shrilly voice. 

He prefers it that way, to be perfectly honest. He doesn't mind the late hours, and the higher ups don't care what he does with the show, as long as there _is_ a show. So he gives out the station numbers, chat handles, twitter accounts, facebook pages...and waits for messages, song requests, and calls (the witching hour is when the weirdos usually come out, and he gets everything from sobbing heartbroken messes to ominous, scripture-quoting loons--he looks forward to those the most). Sometimes he plays games, with himself or with the listeners, and sometimes he gives out advice (whether they were good or bad, he never knew). There are times when he brings his guitar and sings too, but he gets hate mail for that so he doesn't engage in it often. Sometimes he reads poems, or interesting articles, but most of the time, he just talks about anything and everything. Disc jockey-ing is perfect, really, for someone as talkative as him.

But sometimes, he has to admit, it gets boring too. There are nights when he gets a very low amount of callers, nights where the songs he plays get tiring, and he wonders if there's more to this job than he's been led to think. It's cool, sure, but he begins to crave some novelty, three years in.

This night looks like one of those nights.

He's sitting in a pub close to the station and checks his watch. 11:45. More than enough time to walk to the station and prepare for his shift. He rolls his shoulders and takes one last swig of his beer. It's only Monday, and he's feeling pretty much drained. Diaval wants to get it over already. 

He sighs, pays the bill, and grabs his coat. Duty calls.

\---

The night is slow as he predicted: he can't find anything remotely interesting to talk about, no one's participating in his games, and the last caller he got was some self-absorbed guy (what was his name? Gus? Gavin?) asking why this bookish girl he's taking a liking to is not accepting his advances. Diaval was rolling his eyes the entire time. Talk about douchey. He turns on the microphone as the song he played after the call fades, and begins his spiel: 

"That song was brought to you by Magic Carpet Aviations: 'It's a whole new world out there!'. Saying 'hi' to my good friend Iago, who's listening to the show right now. Seriously buddy, lay off the crackers. It's twelve thirty two and you're listening to Midnight Madness on Tales Radio. Phone lines are open if you wanna chat or complain or--hey, someone's calling!"

He presses the button to talk to the caller, much too excited to hear someone else's voice aside from his own. "Tales Radio, hello?"

There was a pause on the other line, before a velvety female voice spoke up. "Hello."

"Hello!" Diaval greets, delighted despite himself at how pleasant the voice on the other line sounds, "Who's calling?"

A pause again. "M."

His eyebrows raise. One of them mysterious ones, eh? He doesn't get much of those. "Just 'M'?"

"Just 'M'."

"Oho, I feel like James Bond over here," he tells the caller, highly amused. He then puts on his best Bond impersonation. "'It's Raven, DJ Raven.' Ha! What'd d'ya think, M?"

"You're too talkative to be a spy," M says over the line. Diaval can't help but chuckle at her deadpan tone.

"Oh? Well, I'd have to work on it, do I? So. What can I do for you, M?"

"I don't know. I've never called a radio show before."

"Really now?" Diaval says. "So why did you call in the first place?"

"I was bored so I turned on the radio, and your show was on."

"You just can't resist my beautiful self, can you?"

He hears a low chuckle over the line and smiles automatically at the sound. How lovely. 

"You're not just talkative. You're vain too," M drawls, but Diaval can sense the amusement in her voice.

"Hey! Just stating a fact," Diaval answers, trying to sound offended. "And it's my job to be talkative, you know."

"I don't know," M says, "You seem talkative even off air."

Wow, this woman really lays it down like it is. "I like you, M," He tells her with a smile, wagging his finger at her as if she's in front of him.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same," she says, laughter in her voice.

"You wound me, M, you do," Diaval utters, and puts a hand to his heart for effect. The wide grin on his face betrays the mock hurt in his voice however. "Do you want to talk about something else, since you've already hurt my delicate feelings and all."

"No, I just wanted to drop a line. You seem lonely in there," she replies, her tone bearing hints of sadness too. Or was he just imagining that? And how the hell did she have an inkling of what he's currently feeling?

"Thanks," he tells her sincerely, his smile softening. "Maybe...I can play you a song instead?"

"Hmm," she considers, "Once Upon a Dream, Lana del Rey." she says after a moment. Diaval perks up. That's his current favorite song.

"Sure thing! Anyone you wanna greet?" 

"She's already asleep."

"Too bad," he says dejectedly before a question bubbles up in his mind and he asks it as soon as it came up. "Will you be calling again, M?" Diaval smacks his forehead. He sounded like a lovesick teenager just now, and over a complete stranger!

"We'll see," M replies, and this time, he can practically hear the smile in her voice, strange as that may seem.

"I'll look forward to it. Good night, M." he says, feeling sorry to have to end the conversation. 

"Goodnight," she says, and ends the call.

Diaval laughs softly to himself, and grabs the CD for her song. "This goes out to M. I hope you have sweet dreams, and enjoy this song!" He loads the CD and plays the song. He leans back against his chair just as Lana's soulful croons come out the speakers and over the airwaves, and folds his arms behind his head.

He doesn't know why, but that one call made tonight's shift a bit better.

\---

She calls again the next night.

Diaval had been scrolling through his twitter mentions and talking out loud about it when the phone rings. He picks it up, still mostly busy with the computer, and answers offhandedly. "Tales. Hello?"

"Hello."

He almost falls off the chair the moment he hears her speak. He'd know that voice anywhere--it had been playing as if on repeat in his head the entire day--and he has to clear his throat before answering.

"M! Hello!" Diaval exclaims, a bit much too chipper for his liking. "You called again, I see."

"How did you know it was me?"

Oh, because I kind of memorized your voice long after you hung up. "I'm just that good," he says, a smirk growing on the corner of his lips even if she can't see it.

"You flatter yourself too much," she scolds, her teasing tone not managing to escape Diaval's ears.

"My beautiful self is only deserving of the praise," he shrugs. "What's up, M?"

"I got bored again."

"Well I'm glad you enjoy the entertainment value of my show," he sing-songs, staring at the little green light on the phone, his twitter now completely forgotten.

"I wouldn't say I'm enjoying..."

"Oh come on!" This woman was equal parts interesting and aggravating. "Ah ah ah! You can't find anyone to insult so you target poor little old me," Diaval accuses, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as she lets out a hearty laugh. He decides right there and then that he can't get enough of the sound of it.

"You're not making it difficult for me, you know."

"M, you're pushing it," she really was. In a good way.

"You like it."

He had no answer to that. And jeez, are they flirting over the radio?

"I do not!" he scoffs. She laughs over the line again and a grin worms its way to his face. He starts laughing along with her.

"So, any reason for your call? Aside from that large dose of shade, of course."

"You sound like you need cheering up," she says, making him pause. He's been feeling particularly down that day--with homesickness attacking him out of the blue and his band having been rejected for a gig--and again he's astounded at how strangely astute she is to how he's currently feeling. 

He smiles at the little green light. "You're horrible at cheering people up, just so you know."

"So you say."

"You are," he reiterates. He clears his throat and tries to erase the sudden wistfulness in his voice. "Would you like to request a song, M?"

"Not really. Do you have any recommendations?"

"How about...Wings, by Birdy?" he suggests, pushing his feet against the floor to propel his swivel chair towards the CD rack.

"I'd like that. Thank you."

"Thank you, M. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She hangs up, and Diaval heaves a sigh.

He misses her voice already.

\---

She calls every night for a month. Diaval craves her voice and relishes in their conversation like he's trapped in a desert and her voice is water.

Which is only fitting, since her image, her existence, her presence, is much like a mirage. He only has bits and pieces to go by from what little information she willingly shares (she's a lawyer, a brunette, likes nature...) and Diaval wishes he can hold the reality of that illusion in his hands.

He think he's going crazy, he can't get her off his mind. He has no idea what she looks like, but he knows she's beautiful. It's in her voice, her way of speaking, in her words. It's in her insights on the issues he raises, in how she turns the most mundane of topics into something profound. It's in the way she makes him laugh and how she keeps him on his toes without even actually being with him. 

It's in the way she seems to understand him.

Needless to say, she's his favorite caller, and his listeners begin to notice. Tweets and messages flood him, asking him about this mysterious letter M:

[Who's M?]

[Do you know each other in real life? She calls every night!]

[Idk about you DJ Raven, but she sounds hot! (Ask her out)!]

He addresses all these answers one night, just to shut these people up. 

"Guys, I do not know M personally. She just called in that one night, okay? And no, I won't use a caller ID to get her number. That's kind of illegal."

"For the last time, I don't know what her 'M' stands for. She won't tell me, remember? Oh and uh, yeah she doesn't have a twitter or a facebook account. Why d'you wanna message her anyway?"

He browses through the questions, which seem to be increasing by the minute. "M, if you're listening, and I know you are, this is the busiest I've been in all my time here--you're making me famous. More than I am already, anyway."

More questions. "How do I know she's real? What? Does she sound like a robot to you?" 

His phone beeps, and he opens a text from Iago. He decides to read it aloud, just for the shits and giggles. "My friend Iago says, 'don't trust that woman, she could be a serial killer.' Really man, really?" He laughs, and the line rings, just as he sent a rather colorful insult to his friend.

"Tales, Hello?"

"I'm not a serial killer."

Diaval laughs even harder.

\---

It's been three months, and her calls have become so regular that it became a segment of sorts. Diaval dubbed it 'Ask M'; his listeners call it 'flirting on air.' 

He can't be bothered correcting them. It's true, after all.

"Alright guys, send in your responses to tonight's question, 'what would be considered a happy ending?' Hit me up on twitter, facebook, call me...I'm gonna read your answers on air. M is gonna call any minute now so just---oh speak of the devil." Diaval answers the call, and the little green button lights up.

"Happy endings don't exist." 

"And a good evening to you too, M." His eyebrows hit his hairline. That was...unexpected. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true. Betrayal and disappointment are inevitable parts of life."

She's always been serious, but somehow this seems different. "Oh come on, M, surely you don't think that," he says kiddingly, smiling at the microphone and scratching his head.

"I do."

Diaval huffs. "Look, there are silver linings out there alright? Things get better. They always do."

"That's very debatable," she tuts.

"Oh? But see, these things you mention, they do get better--you can heal from them--if you have the right people by your side."

"People hurt each other, Raven," she murmurs, a sigh escaping from her lips.

"Sometimes...sometimes they don't mean to!" he defends, leaning. against the counter and slamming his hands on the surface.

"And yet, sometimes they do."

Diaval fails to answer for a moment. "It might seem bleak for now, but--people can hurt and people can heal if you let them, you know?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're horrid at giving advice and motivational speeches?" She counters.

"You'd be the first one," he admits, then shakes himself. "But that's not the point. Point is--"

"That you're too optimistic for your own good?"

He squawks-- _squawks_ \--at that. "And you're too pessimistic for yours!" She doesn't respond so continues, "look, I'm not saying that you can forget whatever it is that happened--"

"You don't know that. You don't know anything," she practically growls. He gulps, and immediately regrets saying what he said. He should have known he was treading shallow waters by the tone of her voice.

"I...," he starts, and realizes he doesn't know what else to say. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Goodbye, Raven."

Goodbye, not goodnight.

"Bye, M." He selects and random song and plays it on air, and, after removing his headphones, he checks his twitter, just to erase the feeling of guilt and uneasiness in his chest. The first tweet he sees makes his eyes bulge.

[did you guys just have a lovers' quarrel?]

\---

She doesn't call the next night, and the next, and the night after that. His listeners are beginning to ask about her whereabouts.

[what happened to M?]

[where's M? I look forward to her calls....]

[You pissed her off, DJ Raven. You and your big mouth.]

"Me and my big mouth," he agrees. His shifts become more and more dull, more lifeless, now that there's no one to banter with him and talk to him and ask about his day.

He's scared the he might forget the way she sounds like. He replays their last conversation in his head when his cellphone beeps, breaking him away from his thoughts. He rummages for it and opens the message quickly, desperate for the distraction. It's from Iago.

「Maybe the police found the bodies and arrested her?」

He frowns, not really amused by his friend's (poor) attempt at humor.

「Fuck off, Iago.」

「Boo hoo, you lovesick birdbrain.」

"Ugh." Diaval puts away the phone and rolls his eyes. He takes to the mic again as the song ends. "Okay, I'm gonna play a round of CD roulette," he announces. "I'm gonna...grab a random CD," he says, closing his eyes as he fumbles for the item, "and play it. Let's see what it has in store for us." He presses the play button. "I think it's a hip hop song. Or something from Glee. I can feel it!"

The song starts, and he groans, silently cursing the universe for making things worse for him.

Over the airwaves, "Officially Missing You" plays.

\---

It's been a two weeks since M last called. He decides to invite Iago over after getting the go from his superiors. They don't say it to his face, but he looks like he needs some company.

"Nah, man. Black is too drab," Iago whines, his rough, pitchy voice almost sounding like a squeal. His listeners seem to be amused by him so far, and they might actually like him. Diaval is seriously beginning to question their tastes.

"Drab? Man, look at you. Your red and yellow Mohawk is blinding. You look like an early warning device. Or a parrot."

"Parrots are majestic birds!" Iago says, his lisp evident with every word.

"They're annoying! Try ravens." He scoffs.

"But can they talk? I don't think so, bro."

They argue a bit more before Diaval addresses his listeners. "Alright guys. You decide, ravens or parrots. Let's prove Iago wrong. Work with me."

The line rings, and Diaval is quick to answer. "And here's our first vote! Tales, hello?"

"H-hello?" A child's voice filters over the line. Diaval exchanges a look with Iago, who seem just as puzzled. He's never gotten calls from children before.

"Hello, who is this?"

The child breathes through the receiver and whispers. "Aurora."

"How old are you, Aurora?"

"I'm seven," Aurora says, still whispering.

"Why are you whispering, kid?" Iago asks.

"It's way past my bedtime," she says. "Are you DJ Raven?"

"Yep, that's me," Diaval replies. "Why are you calling honey?" Why would a child her age call him at this ungodly hour? 

"Mommy used to call you,"

"Who's your mommy?"

"Ma--ah, M." Both lines go silent for a moment. Diaval wipes a hand down his face, suddenly inexplicably nervous.

"I think she misses you. Sometimes I hear you guys talking at night and she smiles a lot after that. She's sadder after she stopped calling." Aurora says. 

Diaval is at a loss for words. "I miss her too," he admits.

"Can you call her?" Aurora asks, her voice growing a tad louder.

"I," Diaval says, "can I?"

"I'll give you her number!" 

"Are you sure?" He looks over at Iago, who only nods in return. 

"You can contact her. I can email you. I got your address" Aurora volunteers. Diaval gulps, unsure of what's happening, yet hopeful at the same time.

"Thank you," he tells the little girl. Iago cuts him off just as he was about to continue.

"How'd you get a hold of him, kid?"

"Google!" she says, giggling. "I gotta go now, DJ Raven. Call her, okay?"

"Okay," Diaval nods, his hands shaking slightly. "And Aurora?"

"Yes?"

"Ravens or parrots?"

"Ravens! They're pretty birds," she says before hanging up.

Diaval grins and fist-pumps. Iago can only roll his eyes.

\---

The email is from a guy named Balthazar, but Aurora signed her name at the bottom. It has but one cell number, and a reminder to 'please please call her'.

Diaval doesn't call, not right away. 

He opts to text her instead, because he convinced himself that it's less creepy, and somehow less likely to earn him a restraining order. He drafts a long winded message but eventually sends a simple one in its stead.

「M? It's me, Raven. I'm sorry for what I said that other night.」

He doesn't expect her to reply, at all. But it comes anyway, so suddenly and surprisingly that he spills his soda all over his shirt.

「How did you get my number?」

「I got help. I'm really sorry.」

「I shouldn't have gotten angry like that. I'm sorry too.」

「Will you be calling me again?」

「We'll see.」

He puts down his phone and exhales. He feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, making him breathe a little bit easier. He smiles at his phone and stares at the message thread for just a moment longer. His shifts might just get more bearable again.

\---

They exchange more texts after that, sometimes just small greetings, sometimes more.

He pesters her to call the show again, saying that her fans miss her, and she just brushes him off with vague answers. It became a game after some time, with his reasons getting more and more creative.

One night, he decides to push her on air.

"M, I know you're listening. Call again, please? People are getting antsy. You have fans you know?" He pleads. "If not, I'll--I'll jump?"

Iago texts him. 「Really, dude?」

"Go to sleep, Iago!" he yells over the mic, and he can practically hear his buddy's barking laugh in his head. "Okay, okay. M, I'm gonna dedicate this song to you, okay? Lines are open especially for you."

Diaval presses play, and the first several notes of 'Call Me Maybe' resounds over the speakers. A barrage of 'you're so cheesy, DJ Raven!' almost immediately fills his twitter feed.

The song ends, and still no sign of her. Diaval sighs, ready to give up and call it a night. His cellphone goes off, and he picks it up after three rings.

"Seriously Iago, find someone else to make fun of."

"I thought you wanted me to call you?" A female voice says.

His breath leaves him, and he grins. He doesn't even care how she got his number.

\---

M still didn't call the show, so he makes up for it by calling her. 

Sometimes she calls him too, timing them during his breaks. This system works for them, somehow, stories and information shared over texts and calls, enabling him to know her a bit better, yet still leaving some room for questions. He knows not to get too personal. He's learned not to push her boundaries the first time.

He takes what she gives him, and he's okay with the pace they've got.

His big mouth gets the better of him again though, during one of his calls. "I want to see you," he blurts out. He gasps and clamps his mouth shut, his eyes wide. He did not just say that.

Her answer makes his eye wider, if that were possible. "Where?"

"You decide," he replies, his words quick. Is this happening? He senses her hesitation so he adds, "I'm not a serial killer, promise."

"I thought that was me?" She says, and they exchange a laugh. "Do you know that Italian place on 19th street?"

"Tony's?"

"Yes. See you there, Saturday, at seven. Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckles, then hangs up. He rans a hand through his hair, stares off into empty space for a moment, grabs his phone again, and starts rifling through his contacts.

Diaval presses call and quells the panic in his voice as the other line picks up. "Jim. It's me. I have a date. What do I do?"

\---

He arrives at Tony's ten minutes early. He opts for a black button down shirt and a pair of black pants--the usual, really--and tries not to fidget in his seat.

It's seven pm sharp and suddenly there are voices near the door. After a few moments Chef Tony begins to walk toward his table, followed by a tall brunette in a black dress. Chef Tony leads her to his table and Diaval becomes breathless as soon as he takes one look at her. 

She's easily the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Raven?" she asks, her red lips breaking into a small smile. He fails to answer immediately--he's lost in her golden green eyes.

"Diaval. My real name's Diaval," he replies, almost stammering. He stands up to pull out her chair for her and promptly sits back down on his own seat after she takes hers. God, he can't keep his eyes off her.

"Hello, Diaval. I'm Mallory. Nice to finally meet you."

"Mallory," he breathes. Mallory. "The pleasure's all mine."

(They order the special spaghetti, and he gives her his meatball. Her presence is just as enthralling as her voice, and he wills his heart to stop hammering hard against his chest the entire time.

He's not expecting it, but he gets a schedule for dinner again the next Saturday. This time, he picks the place.)

\---

"This is DJ Raven and you're tuned in to Midnight Madness, and guys, we have a special guest tonight. No not Iago. He's away, something about his a-hole boss searching for this thing--anyway. This guest is super, extraordinarily special, especially for me." Diaval paused and wiggled his eyebrows at his guest, who only rolled her eyes.

"Anyway. Here she is. Say hello!"

"I don't even know why I let you pull me into this," she drawls, before turning her attention to her mic. "Good evening, everyone."

Diaval could almost hear the collective gasp of everyone listening. He takes a moment and looks through his social media. The notifications are piling up, and the phone line begins to ring off the hook. Mallory smirks at and he smiles back.

Tonight's gonna be a good night.


End file.
